


an end to all things

by DittyWrites



Series: Scarecrow/Riddler Shenanigans [10]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham (Video Games), Batman: Arkham - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Injury, Insults, LMAO, M/M, Off-screen Relationship(s), Past Relationship(s), Permanent Injury, Set post-Arkham Knight, Unresolved Emotional Tension, its a bit more angsty, thats a good tag, this is different to my usual snarky funfare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 12:18:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11805876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DittyWrites/pseuds/DittyWrites
Summary: Blinking away his thoughts, Edward sought out the object of this visit only to find that Jonathan was already watching him passively from the cot which passed for a bed in this prison.“Two months, Edward. I admire your restraint for waiting so long to visit me.”As the hoarse words filled the small room, Edward repressed a shudder at the uncomfortable familiarity of it.





	an end to all things

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise for the length of time this took to get done. It was because i am a bad person.

The nurse appeared pleasant enough, her perfume perhaps a touch too aggressive for his tastes, as she led him towards the high-security wing at the rear of the building. Her smile had the placid warmth of an individual who was accustomed to calming others and she appeared unperturbed by the various howling and aggressive shouting which followed their every move.

“This way, Mr. Irving.”

His credentials were impeccable, he knew that, so the mild ire that was clawing at his consciousness as she failed to recognise his true identity was unreasonable.

Yet, it remained.

Shoes clicking against the tiled flooring, he allowed himself to be ushered through the last few security doors as they approached their destination. The unnatural scent of forced cleanliness caused him to scrunch up his nose in distaste, it was too similar to Arkham and other institutions, but he relaxed his expression as they reached the appropriate room.

“You are aware of the rules, Mr Irving? I know you requested a private meeting and your credentials are enough to authorise that but are you aware of the risk to yourself? He is unarmed but...” Her voice was hushed as it faded off, unwilling to risk the occupant of the cell overhearing her.

Clearing his voice with authority, Edward nodded.

“I am well aware of any risk. This is not my first meeting with a patient of such high-profile.”

“Of course not, Sir.”

With a kind smile which held only a little concern, the nurse matched his nod with one of her own as she handed him a security pass to enter and exit the room before retreating down the hallway and leaving Edward alone with his thoughts once again.

Taking in a deep breath as he prepared to meet what was ahead, Edward swiped the pass firmly through the slot and stepped inside.

The small window which every room was required by law to possess had been haphazardly blocked off by several small stacks of books, leaving only a few slivers of daylight to pass through and dot along the floor. This, combined with the dim, cheap light which was bolted into the ceiling, left the room in a much darker state than the hallway and it took Edwards' eyes a few moments to adjust.

Even through the poor lighting, the lack of stimulation available in the room was enough to put him on edge as his intelligent eyes observed the small space. A bed and a small metal table with matching chair were the only other items held within it and the rivets which bolted each item into its designated place were designed in such a way to be unmovable.

It was a grim fate for any individual.

Blinking away his thoughts, Edward sought out the object of this visit only to find that Jonathan was already watching him passively from the cot which passed for a bed in this prison.

“Two months, Edward. I admire your restraint for waiting so long to visit me.”

As the hoarse words filled the small room, Edward repressed a shudder at the uncomfortable familiarity of it.

In the years they had known each another he had grown accustomed to the various pitches of Jonathans' voice, from its natural bass to the high-pitched manic tones of the Scarecrow, but its delightful uniqueness had been lost to Killer Croc down in the dank sewers of Arkham. The torn skin of Jonathans' throat had eventually healed but he had been robbed of his versatility, limited to a deep, raspy tone which was afflicted with a frightening calmness, a certainty of knowledge and things to come.

Edward, like many others, had assumed Jonathan dead after that incident in the sewers, he had even approached something similar to mourning that the scientist had been lost in such a way, but his later discovery that Jonathan was hidden away in the bowels of Arkham City had been a blow to his ego which he had yet to truly recover from.

He had assumed that his personal relationship with Jonathan, however strained and questionable it may be, would have afforded him a simple 'I am alive' message but he had been mistaken.

He had been foolish.

Holding Jonathans' milky gaze for a moment, Edward briefly debated coming up with some false excuse as to why he was so delayed but he could come up with no viable reason to be dishonest.

So he shrugged .

“Life continues on. With the disappearance of the Dark Knight it took me a whole two days to escape from Arkham after I was transferred from the GCPD,” his tone was boastful as he added, “plus, I was angry and did not feel that you deserved my presence.”

“Angry with me?” Sitting up so that he could perch on the edge of the bed, Jonathan winced as his braced leg clattered to the floor. “How unlike you.”

He was not wrong.

A great deal of the relationship which had existed between them had centered on Edwards' rage, both reasonable and unreasonable, but it had worked for them in the context in which it existed.

Placing his arms across his chest, Edward adopted a defensive position as he accused.

“You left me to die in the city like those other fools, like common scum. I have every right to be angry.”

The hospital jumpsuit hung off Jonathans' skeletal frame and from the exposed skin on his hand and face it was clear that whatever surgeries Jonathan had underwent since his incarceration had been good for him. His face would never return to the way it had been but both the ropey scarring which Croc had caused and Jonathans' self-inflicted wounds from sewing his mask directly into his skin had been healed to the best of their ability.

No one had seen Jonathan outside of his costume since his reappearance after his supposed death and it was not until his capture at the hands of the Dark Knight that the true extent of his wounds were known.

Between the natural gauntness of his appearance which had only become more extreme as he recovered from his traumas and the excessive scarring from Crocs' sharp teeth and claws, including the partial loss of sight in one eye, Jonathan looked more corpse than living. His mouth was twisted, the lips partially reconstructed, and the skin surrounding it looked rough; almost raw.

He was truly frightening.

But Edward supposed that was his intention.

Clasping his hands in his lap, Jonathans' expression was closed and unreadable.

“I had no doubt that you would follow my very clear instructions and stay within your safehouse in the orphanage. Your inability to do so is not my concern.”

“You left me no warning that the plan was going ahead,” Edward countered hotly,” and your utter ignorance left me vulnerable and ruined my own personal plans beyond repair.”

“The Bat was more troublesome that anticipated,” Jonathan brushed off a small bit of dirt which lay on his sleeve as he voice darkened imperceptibly, “and I had anticipated.”

Biting back some harsh words as he realised that an apology would not be coming his way, was unlikely to ever be heard, Edward instead settled for forced nonchalance.

“Besides,” he waved his hand in the air, “you were in a medically-induced coma for the first month so visiting seemed like a complete waste of my time and, as you know, my time is incredibly valuable and cannot be wasted on nothing.”

The approaching evening was sapping away the small slivers of sunlight which broke through the blocked-out window and Edward found himself staring at them as he paused his speech, allowing his words to sink in.

Apparently ignoring the insult, the first sign of interest sparked in Jonathans' gaze as he continued to look at Edward.

“You mentioned that you were left vulnerable by my plans so I assume that you were caught in the toxin attack.”

Tilting his mouth unpleasantly, Edward nodded.

“Not to the extent of the others.”

“Did you experience the usual high anxiety?”

“Yes.”

“Hallucinations.”

“Mild. Not fully corporeal but existing on the edges of my sight.”

“Your father?”

How quickly they fell into old habits and Edward felt a twitch in his jaw as he closed the line of questioning.

He could not afford to be taken in.

“I am not here to discuss the past.”

“We have no future.”

The words were spoken with no real fire, just a quiet certainty, but they stung more than Edward would confess to and he was quick to respond to cover the feeling.

“Incorrect. YOU have no future. I will survive.”

To emphasise his point, he took a leisurely glance around the small room which worked as a cell for his lost partner.

Jonathan had truly rattled Gotham to her core and he was lucky to have survived with his life intact. Even now, months down the line, there were still calls for him to be subjected to some form of capital punishment to account for all the misery and death which he had caused. This 'hospital' and the level of security which held him here, plus the complete seclusion which he was subjected to, meant that he was unlikely to ever escape.

He would die here, surrounded by nothing.

His true legacy.

But was not the only one to have experienced a great loss. The death of the Batman had robbed Edward of his only chance of ever being able to prove himself the true superior and the constant hum of that loss had caused him to lose sight of his goals for weeks after the incident. Escaping Arkham was easy, it had never been a challenge, but his life had been dedicated to defeating the Dark Knight for so long that he was now faced with the greatest challenge which a true genius like himself could ever meet.

Uncertainty.

There was nothing left in Gotham for him.

The city would recover and return to its previous state, now defended by the youthful legacy which the Dark Knight had left in his place, but none of them could provide him with what he needed.

“Was it worth it?” He asked, the need to know like a pressure inside his skull.

Without hesitation, Jonathan answered in a lifeless voice.

“Yes.”

“Regrets?”

“None.”

“You killed Poison Ivy.”

“And many others.” Jonathan pointed out. “She made her own choice. Her death was unfortunate, however, as she had much to offer the other sciences.” Unclasping his hands, he settled one atop his bad knee and Edward could see him rubbing the aching area gently. “How are the others faring?”

Unsure of how aware Jonathan was of the world outside of these walls, Edward settled on the bigger pieces of news.

“Harleen Quinzel has disappeared.”

Jonathan made a low noise of consideration in his throat.

“Her mental state deteriorated after the death of Joker,” he offered after a moment, his raspy tones contemplative, “I do not imagine that Dr Isleys' passing has done anything to improve it. Harleen Quinzel is reckless but had never shown suicidal tendencies so I have no doubt that she will return eventually.”

Nodding reluctantly in agreement, Edward moved to his next point.

“Freeze is dead.”

A slight widening of his eyes was the only sign that Jonathan was surprised.

“How?”

“Love.” Edward sneered. “The wife was finally lost to him and he went with her. The fool.”

“Has he been confirmed dead?”

“He transferred every cent he possessed to a distant relative and a body was discovered at Bludhaven Bay three days ago. While the incompetent fools that run the morgue there have not confirmed that it is his, I have hacked the autopsy and it seems very likely.”

“He lived for his wife so that is not entirely unexpected.”

Uncomfortable with how quickly they had settled into familiar territory of conversation, Edward cleared his throat and pulled out an item from his inner coat pocket.

“I brought a gift.”

Placing the well-thumbed book down gently on the small table which had been bolted into the floor, Edward stroked his finger along the spine as a disorientating weight settled into his stomach.

“It was all I could have salvaged from your hidden safehouse before it was torn apart by a furious crowd of vengeful luddites. Everything else will be ruined by now as all traces of you in the city are being destroyed with great vehemence.”

The first edition copy of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow was one of the few items which Jonathan had kept with him throughout his life and, while Edward was unaware of whatever sentimentality Jonathan had towards the book, he could understand that it held importance to the man.

“A parting gift.” He clarified.

“You are leaving.”

It was not a question.

“There is nothing left in Gotham for me at the moment,” Edward confessed, “you have seen to that. There are tasks which I must accomplish and I feel a change of scenery will be good for me to do so. Gotham truly is the City of Dis itself and the thugs and fools which roam its streets are no longer worth my time.”

“I see your ego has not been affected by any of these recent events which is a tragedy now that all that bravado has no source to be targeted against. You are afraid of not having a purpose and that fear is making you weak.”

The insult intended and accuracy of the statement was clear and Edward clenched his fists in anger, squaring his body as the fresh memory of his humiliation and severe beating at the hands of the Dark Knight and Catwoman flashed through his mind.

“You are in no position to mock me, Crane!” He hissed. “While you rot here in this hell of your own making I will move on and thrive because I CAN! There is nothing to stop me now that the Dark Knight is dead! I do not need anyone to accomplish my goals and I only agreed to your foolish plan in the first place because it was destined to fail without my help.”

Breathing roughly, Edward calmed himself by rubbing his hands on the lapels of his bottle green suit.

“Goodbye, Scarecrow.” He offered, walking back towards the door which he had entered through. It was finished. There was nothing left here to accomplish.

“Scarecrow?” Jonathan picked up on the official use of his title immediately. “Whatever happened to 'Jonathan' or even 'Crane'?”

“He does not exist, has not for quite some time, and I was a fool to think otherwise.”

“You are many things, Edward Nygma, but not a fool.”

Jonathans' tone had not changed but the apparent kindness of the words held a foulness to them which caused Edwards' spine to straighten as he continued to leave.

Using his card to swipe the door, Edward kept a eye on his peripheries to ensure that Jonathan remained on the bed and did not attempt to attack him from behind or escape. The locks slid open and Edward pulled the door towards him gently as he stepped outside.

He had a few last minute things to take care of and then he could begin preparations to leave Gotham City and build up an empire elsewhere. For now, at least.

Jonathans' voice stopped him.

“I should have died in the sewers of Arkham.”

It was not an apology.

There was no regret.

It was a simple statement, offered with no emotion whatsoever.

Hesitating at the doorway, a host of possible responses flitted through Edwards' head but they all seemed hollow so he elected for honesty as he turned enough to catch Jonathans' milky, lifeless gaze.

“You did.”

Dropping his shoulders, he allowed a small flash of regret to cross his features as he pulled the heavy metal door shut behind him. As the various locks snapped shut into place his hand lingered on the handle for just a moment before it was snatched away.

Jonathan Crane had died that night in the sewers and what existed behind that door, the monster which would rather destroy the world than study it, was all that remained until it too withered and passed on.

Edward would not allow himself to wither with it.

 


End file.
